


Attempts to Help

by ravenclawkohai



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Cutting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 09:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkohai/pseuds/ravenclawkohai
Summary: Prompt: “What are you doing? Did you do that to yourself?”TW Self-HarmCloud struggles with self-harm and Sephiroth does his best to be supportive.





	Attempts to Help

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Sephiroth handles the issue of self-harm very poorly and his actions should, under no circumstances, be taken as a guide for helping someone with a history of self-harm. At the end of this fic, there will be references for helpful ways to support someone with self-harm. These references are for an individual who has a friend or family member who self-harms, not the person who self-harms themselves. There will also be contact information for self-harm hotlines. If you struggle with self-harm, please see a mental health professional as soon as possible. 
> 
> The description of Cloud's struggle and mental illness is only one possible scenario out of many. His symptoms, thoughts, and attempts to cope are a singular example of the situation of someone who self-harms. Do not take this as a blanket description of the reasons why someone might self-harm, how it progresses, or experiences with it in general, as these are unique to each individual.

               If Cloud was honest, it had been going on for about as long as he could remember. It hadn’t _started out_ this bad, but it was only expected that things would deteriorate.

               Cloud had always been an emotional person. He felt things deeply and intensely, much more so than everyone else seemed to. His feelings did nothing by half-measure and ran wildly out of control more often than not. It didn’t help that his mood tended to swing lightning fast, going from joy to sorrow to anger and back to joy within a matter of minutes. He had been a terror as a child, his moods running away with him. His mother struggled to keep him calm with his emotions changing so rapidly and the other children struggled to keep up, often getting whiplash.

He had few friends because of it, and those that did seem tolerant weren’t particularly healthy to be around. They saw an isolated boy who they could manipulate. His mood had a hair-trigger, making it easy for anyone clever enough to change his emotions at the drop of a hat to suit their own needs. His first friend had been one such individual, and he had played Cloud like a fiddle. He convinced Cloud that no one else would befriend him, getting the boy to cling to him in order to avoid loneliness. Though the other boy seemed to enjoy making Cloud uncomfortable and incredibly upset, he tempered it with enough affection that it was only years later that Cloud figured out how poorly he had been treated.

As he grew older and got more practice, however, he was able to rein everything in. His mood swings never eased, but he learned how pretend at neutral. He figured out how to smile when depressed, look unaffected when infuriated, and calm when wildly excited. It was a careful balancing act that took him years to perfect, but he managed. It took constant vigilance and a lot of determination, but it was worth it to have some semblance of normalcy. He had been outcasted as a child, and that stigma clung, but with his seemingly more even temperament, more people were willing to attempt friendship with him. Perhaps because of his history, perhaps because he never seemed to notice, he still drew the wrong sort. But he had grown accustomed to mistreatment, having not known any better, and took it in stride.

It began when he finally truly learned how to control his reaction to emotions, since he couldn’t regulate the emotions themselves. Constantly working to keep an iron control on his mood wore on him. It was certainly doable, but it took effort and a lot of concentration to pull off. It had begun out of desperation for a break. The only time he could relax was when he was by himself, with no one around to notice or be bothered by his mood swings. It took a toll on him to keep up the façade, and though he longed for an easier way, he couldn’t find anything.

It had been an impulse. He had been hanging on by his last fingertip, trying to keep control but desperately close to failing. It was likely frustration that made it cross his mind, but he acted without thought. He was in private, theoretically able to let go, but all he wanted was to scream and cry; not something he could do without alerting his mother. Not only had his mood switched, but the emotion was so intense that it bordered on painful. On instinct, he reached up, fingers tangling in his hair, and _pulled_. Only a few strands came free, but the stinging across his scalp seemed to help. It grounded him, slowly drowning out the emotion, until the mood swing passed. He had let his hair go and stared in surprise and awe at his palms.

He _had_ grown accustomed to controlling how he acted on his emotions, and he could continue it. He found it was those private moments when he really needed the help. As a rule, privacy let him behave how he wished. But being lax that way occasionally let things spiral out of control. He would end up feeling so _much_ that he was simply overwhelmed. There was nothing to do but hold on and pray. It took something out of him physically to do so, like he was trying to hang on through a hurricane. Perhaps it felt worse because he had learned control at other times, or maybe his emotions were getting even more intense. He didn’t know, but he was desperate for something to help, _anything_ to help.

Hair-pulling became his go to. He would press his face to his knees where they pressed against his chest and tug, letting the tears seep into his pants and wait. It wasn’t long before he knew with confidence that the pulling helped tame his emotions.

This had evolved when he started having more of those fits of extremely intense emotion while in public. Hair-pulling was by no means subtle, so it wasn’t an option. He took to digging his fingernails into his palms, sometimes until they bled. But the biting feeling worked as well the tugging had.

From there things stepped up to scratching. While at home, he was free to really dig his fingernails in, clawing hard enough to raise welts. He was more tempered about it in public, lightly scraping across his fingers and hands and wrists, but sometimes he was at it long enough that he not only raised blisters, but picked right through them, wearing holes into the skin that scabbed over with time.

When the hair-pulling and scratching wasn’t enough, or seemed to take too long to work, he started taking scalding showers. He would leave with skin pink and raw, but the burning feeling tamed the emotion more quickly.

Their power had gone out during a storm once, and he had moved too quick while holding a candle. The wax had spilled across his knuckles, and a new idea hit him. He stole a candle from his mother’s store and bought a box of matches from the convenience score. Dripping the wax across the sensitive skin of his inner forearm seemed to work better than anything else to date. He began carrying the candle and matches with him, prepared if he needed them at any point of the day.

He couldn’t exactly say where he had gotten the idea to escalate from there. Maybe it was a natural progression. Maybe it was impulse. Maybe it was always going to end up where it did. All Cloud knew was that scratching and the wax weren’t enough. The welts and little burn marks weren’t enough. He didn’t want to see pink, he wanted red. He wanted it to truly _sting_ , a nice, sharp pain to cut through it all. His mother had given him a pocket knife when he turned ten, partially for use on boxes and mail, partially for cutting herbs he stumbled on in the forest surrounding town. He pulled one thin, shallow cut across his inner forearm, high up, just below his elbow. He had stared at the red line for longer than he expected, watching little beads of blood rise. When it started to slip and flow down his arm, he was finally surprised out of his trance and scrambled for the tissue box. He cleaned up as best he could, but he knew while he was doing it that he had crossed some sort of line. He felt a bubble of shame in him, knowing he had done something wrong, that he had finally gone too far.

That didn’t stop him from doing it again, though.

He had carried his pocketknife with him since he’d been given it. Sometimes, the temptation was too great. He had always known to hide the hair-pulling and scratching and burning. But he was afraid to be caught with this. This would outright concern his mother if she learned, possibly even frighten her, and that was the last thing he wanted. There were few things he hated more than causing people he cared about to worry.

But the air was always cold in Nibelheim, and no one questioned that he always wore long sleeves. He told himself every time that it was the last time, but it had grown, formed a nasty addiction he couldn’t shake. He had even thrown away his pocketknife at one point, but it didn’t help. He had just gone and bought another, not making anything better, just costing him money.

The problem was that it just worked too well. Nothing else calmed him immediately the way cutting did. No matter how intense the emotion, it was always swept away, leaving nothing but peace in its wake. He could breathe deeply, the knot of too-much-feeling in his chest always unwinding. The tension slipped from his shoulders and his eyes slipped shut, relaxed at last. No matter what he told himself, every time the emotion had become too strong, he just couldn’t find it with him to suffer through it, to fight desperately, clinging on by his fingertips and nothing else. There was a quick and easy solution; he just couldn’t bring himself to writhe unnecessarily.

He had gotten all the way through his last days in Nibelheim without being caught. His long sleeves hid all the little lines, whether they were faded-white, pink, or scabbed-scarlet. On his journey to Midgar, he found the long sleeves stifling. He’d nearly melted in Junon, but he was terrified of what people would say or do or how they would look at him if he dared a tee-shirt.

When he got to Midgar and saw most people wearing short sleeves, he was incredibly nervous. His arms became a primary concern. He was, however, equally relieved when he found out the cadets wore the standard trooper uniform, which included long sleeves. The thought of public showers made him nervous, but each shower was in its own stall. There was a separate, curtained off section between the shower and the rest of the bathroom for towels and clothes, which let him dress in private. If he changed into his pajamas late, the darkness of the barracks itself would provide cover.

He was admittedly shooting for the SOLDIER program, which had sleeveless shirts as a part of the uniform. It had almost deterred him, but then he heard about the strange mako enhancements, and their incredible healing power. He assumed any scars would fade, and new cuts wouldn’t scar at all.

There was no ban on pocketknives, which took care of the last of his concerns.

He didn’t really make friends within the cadet program, but he rarely made friends in general. Since his recent realization that all the friends he’d had to date treated him like dirt, he wasn’t particularly inclined to search any out, either. Besides, the fewer people who paid attention to him, the less likely he was to be caught.

When Zack had become determined to befriend him, he had been both suspicious that he would be mistreated and afraid that his secret would be discovered. As time went on, his suspicion faded. He was careful to consider how Zack treated him, checking and double-checking that the SOLDIER was, in fact, a good friend. When he proved to be honest and caring, the last of the wariness disappeared. In its place, the fear grew. Without his mother around, he thought he wouldn’t have anyone likely to discover him, or someone that would truly care. He would accept the worry any day of the week, though, as long as he could stay friends with Zack.

Hiding was taking more effort than he anticipated. Zack asked why he was always in uniform, even when off-duty. When he’d said that he hadn’t really brought any civvies with him, Zack (remembering the dismal pay for cadets) had offered to take him shopping, and it had been difficult to get him to drop the matter. When Zack saw him wearing long-sleeved pajamas in the summer, he’d said that all his pajamas were that way because of Nibelheim’s climate. Zack had, again, offered to take him shopping, and it had been even harder to dissuade him this time. Zack teased him mercilessly for the “shyness” that stopped him from changing in front of the SOLDIER. He teased him even more for his habit of carrying a pocketknife, which was apparently not something city people did. He only got Zack to stop calling him a hick by reminding him that, as a Gongagan, he didn’t have much room to talk.

It was tricky, but he managed. He found himself using the knife more frequently, the stress of the program making his mood swings worse, making his use of a distinctly poor coping mechanism worse. If he hadn’t had years of practice with hiding the evidence, he would have certainly slipped.

When Zack had introduced him to Sephiroth, insisting that his two best friends also became friends, the nerves had brought him to cut again. He knew how guilty Zack would feel if he knew, but, well, he never found out, and Cloud needed the stress-relief to handle meeting someone he had looked up to for so long.

The introduction went well. Though Cloud was clearly nervous, he handled the matter relatively well. He and Sephiroth were more alike in disposition than either had thought, making it easy for them to get along. They had a similar sense of humor, both wielding a dry sarcasm that Zack couldn’t pull off himself, but found hilarious. Cloud and Sephiroth exchanged PHS numbers and agreed to meet up again later that week for dinner, Zack intending to drag them to his favorite restaurant.

(Thanks to his over-sensitive nose, Sephiroth had noticed Cloud smelling faintly, but distinctly, of blood. He had looked the cadet over for wounds, but the trooper uniform covered most of the body. He assumed there was a scraped knee or nick from combat training and dismissed his concern.)

Zack hadn’t expected them to get along as well as they did (Cloud hadn’t expected for his need to cut before seeing Sephiroth to fade so quickly). It was only a few weeks before Cloud and Sephiroth were meeting up on their own, without Zack to bridge them.

(Sephiroth assumed that Cloud was clumsy, from the frequent smell of blood that lingered on him. He had been surprised when the scent suddenly disappeared, but assumed the cadet had mastered some weapon that had been giving him problems and caused the injuries.)

Zack, who hadn’t been present every time Cloud and Sephiroth were together, didn’t realize quite how close they grew in such a small amount of time. When they’d had a party to celebrate Cloud’s birthday, Zack had brought liquor. Though Cloud was underage, neither Zack nor Sephiroth intended to snitch, and both agreed that Cloud would be a hilarious drunk. While he was, indeed, hilarious, he was also surprisingly affectionate. He spent most of the night hugging either Zack or Sephiroth and constantly proclaimed how much he liked each and how much their friendship meant to him. It had been incredibly endearing.

Zack had returned to his own apartment somewhere around one in the morning, but everyone agreed that Cloud, who was outright sloshed, shouldn’t return to the barracks, in case someone reported him for drunkenness. When Cloud had wiggled his way onto Sephiroth’s lap, cheek pressed to the man’s chest, Sephiroth had found it both amusing and charming. There was a faint smile on his lips as his brow raised when Cloud pulled back to look at him.

“I like you,” Cloud proclaimed with sudden boldness. Sephiroth, who had spent most of the night hearing how much Cloud cared about their friendship, misinterpreted.

“I like you as well,” he said, entertained and fond.

               He was slightly confused when Cloud blinked at him in surprise, jaw dropping a little. He _certainly_ didn’t expect him to reach out, cup his face, and kiss him.

               It was, admittedly, a little sloppy, though it was expected with how drunken Cloud was. That didn’t stop him, once his surprise had faded, from making the kiss passionate. He had found Cloud charming and attractive since their first meeting, only growing fonder as he truly got to know the cadet. He hadn’t expected his feelings to be returned, especially not with Cloud crowing his approval of their friendship all night, but he was by no means upset by the turn.

               He pulled Cloud closer where he straddled his lap with his hands on his hips. From how they were positioned, Sephiroth had to angle his head up to reach Cloud’s mouth, guiding their kiss from below. Cloud had wrapped his arms around Sephiroth’s neck, their kiss deepening. At one point, Sephiroth pressed his hand gently to the small of Cloud’s back, which bowed easily, pressing them closer together.

               It took longer than Sephiroth was proud of to remember Cloud’s state of drunkenness, though he still found it difficult to pull away, especially considering the way Cloud leaned forward to chase his lips. He even gave a little pout and whine at the loss that he would have hidden had he not been drinking.

               “We can continue this when you’re sober and sure you want it,” Sephiroth said gently, brushing the hair from Cloud’s face, the cadet huffing.

               “I know what I want,” he insisted, earning a smile from Sephiroth.

               “I’m sure you do,” he agreed, “but you’re lacking any sense of inhibition at the moment, and I won’t take advantage of that.”

               Cloud rolled his eyes and groaned in frustration before dropping his forehead to Sephiroth’s shoulder, letting a rare swear slip.

               When he woke the next morning in Sephiroth’s spare bedroom, he had a pounding headache and was both parched and embarrassed. He was nervous when he went out into the kitchen to see Sephiroth seated at a table, coffee cup in hand. He looked up, brows raised faintly.

               “Good morning,” he greeted.

               “Morning,” Cloud mumbled, going to sit across the table from him.

               There was a carafe of both coffee and orange juice at the table, a cup and a mug placed next to a plate. He was surprised the smell of fried eggs and hash browns hadn’t woken him, much less the bacon.

               “Did you sleep well?” he asked as Cloud slowly went about filling his plate.

               “Yeah.”

               “I’m glad.”

               They frequently fell into companionable silences, but Cloud was too tense for this to be comfortable.

               “Look, I, uh,” Cloud started, staring at his plate. “I want to apologize for my behavior last night. That was… pretty bad of me.”

               When he glanced up, Sephiroth’s head was tilted to the side, curious and considering.

               “You have nothing to apologize for,” Sephiroth said, but continued when Cloud snorted in disbelief. “If you recall, I didn’t exactly mind.”

               Cloud froze, immediately looking over Sephiroth’s face, searching for something.

               “You weren’t just… I don’t know, humoring me?” It was Sephiroth’s turn to snort.

               “Do I seem like someone inclined to lead on a friend instead of being honest?”

               Cloud paused with a frown, not daring to be hopeful.

               “Not really.”

               Sephiroth put down his mug and rested his chin in one hand.

               “I like you very much, Cloud,” he said, watching Cloud blush as he said it. “If you are still so inclined while sober, I would be happy to kiss you any time you’d like.”

               Cloud looked hesitant, unsure if Sephiroth was leading toward a friends-with-benefits arrangement or the dating option.

               “I would also be happy to wait until you’ve had time to consider, and I will respect your decision either way, though I would like the chance to convince you by taking you out,” Sephiroth continued, watching Cloud with both heat and intensity.

               His mouth was suddenly dry. He was decidedly surprised and his heart kept fluttering in his chest.

               “I—I would like that,” Cloud agreed. “A lot.”

               Sephiroth gave him a rare, fond smile, and said, “We’ll find a time when we’re both free.”

               Cloud was walking on air for the rest of the morning. They shared breakfast and Sephiroth refused to let him do the dishes without help, despite having done the cooking on his own. They chatted briefly and scheduled a dinner date for the upcoming Friday at seven o’clock.

               He hesitated in the doorway on his way out, turning back toward the apartment. Sephiroth was holding the door open, hand on the door above Cloud’s head; he raised an eyebrow. Cloud took one glance down the hall and turned back to face him when it proved to be empty. He moved slowly, giving Sephiroth time to react and stop him if he wanted to, but he made no move to stop Cloud as he reached one hand up, cupping the back of Sephiroth’s head, and pulled him down.

               The kiss began hesitant and soft, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Cloud wrapped his arms around Sephiroth’s neck, partially for balance, partially to hold him close. Sephiroth wrapped his arms around Cloud’s waist, pulling him closer. They took their time, but the kiss deepened, finding the passion their first had.

               Cloud let Sephiroth maneuver him when he shifted the blond over, pressing his back against the wall by the door, which swung shut. Sephiroth slipped one hand up along Cloud’s jaw, tilting his head to find the perfect angle. His other slipped down to hold Cloud’s hip. He had left a respectful distance between them until Cloud tugged him closer insistently, pressing them together.

               When they pulled away, they were both out of breath, lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown wide. Sephiroth licked his lips and glanced down at Cloud’s mouth again, but carefully stepped away, even if he looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do. It took a moment before Cloud could collect himself, pulling himself upright despite the blush on his face. With a look of amusement, Sephiroth stepped further away and held the door open again.

               “Right,” Cloud muttered, going toward the hallway, though he hesitated in the doorway again. He turned back and rose on his tip-toes to press a brief kiss to Sephiroth’s lips, a warm, soft laugh chasing him as he pulled away again.

               “If you keep this up, we’ll be here all day,” he muttered, voice hushed with their proximity.

               “Is that an offer?” Cloud countered, matching his quiet.

               “It would be, if I didn’t know you have an exam tomorrow that you need to study for,” Sephiroth answered, a small, knowing smirk on his lips. Cloud groaned in frustration.

               “I should have known Zack would snitch,” he frowned. The smirk turned into a smile as Sephiroth nodded his head toward the hallway.

               “I have no intention of harming your grades. We’ll continue this on Friday.”

               “Is that a promise?”

               “Absolutely.”

               Cloud stole one final kiss, much to Sephiroth’s amusement, before leaving.

               Their first date went well, as did all the ones that followed. Zack had teased them when they admitted to being boyfriends and jokingly bragged about bringing them together, insisting that they repay him in gifts and paying for anything he bought when the three were together. It was, quite easily, the happiest Cloud had been in his life.

               But friends and boyfriends were no panacea. It didn’t change his habit of self-harm. Having begun young, it was really the only functioning coping mechanism he had, and no amount of good company simply cured symptoms. No matter how much he trusted Zack and Sephiroth, he found himself entirely unable to turn to them, likely because he had no idea how to reach out for help. Having never discussed the symptoms, he had no idea that his constant emotional rollercoaster wasn’t normal. He thought that everyone lived with constant mood swings and painfully intense emotions. He had learned how to control his reactions to them; he assumed everyone else had as well. It was probably just something everyone learned while growing up. He didn’t need to be told, however, that self-harm was abnormal. He knew it in his gut that most people didn’t cope the same way he did, but he was still unwilling and afraid to make anyone afraid or worried for his sake. He’d lived this way for years. It was his normal. He was fine. There was no sense in making his friend and boyfriend concerned when nothing was wrong.

               The longer he dated Sephiroth, however, the harder it became to keep his secret. He was, by no means, uninterested in intimacy, but he was terrified of being caught. Every time Sephiroth’s hands slipped under his shirt, he pulled them away. Sephiroth relented quickly, assuming that he just wasn’t ready. Cloud grew more and more frustrated with the situation and, eventually, decided to risk it.

               Their first time, Cloud insisted that they keep the lights off; Sephiroth thought it was because he was simply shy. He always remembered to get into his pajamas after, no matter how comfortable he was, to be sure his long-sleeves were in place. He got away with that for quite a while, as Sephiroth had decided not to ask after their third time. When Cloud was comfortable being intimate with the lights on, he would say so, and he refused to pressure him into rushing.

               It would have taken quite some time for Sephiroth to broach the matter himself, and if he did, it would be only to reassure Cloud that he could be trusted and to remind him that he could take all the time he wanted, maybe to ask if there was any way he could help him be more comfortable. They never got to that point.

               He had gotten the call first thing the morning, his ringtone going off during breakfast. As he listened to the voice on the other end, he slowly stilled. His stomach dropped as he paled, his hands starting to shake. He was short of breath by the time he gave a faint confirmation to the speaker and hung up. Sephiroth looked at him with curiosity and concern. Cloud’s PHS volume was turned low enough, the speaker tinny and terrible enough, accompanied with the crackle of static, that it was impossible to hear what was being discussed. He usually ended up eavesdropping on all calls made around him, despite any efforts to tune the conversation out, by virtue of his intense hearing, but he had no idea what had Cloud reacting so poorly.

               “Excuse me,” was all Cloud offered, voice quiet and tight, as he stood up, almost stumbling in his haste. He nearly ran to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

               The call had come from Nibelheim; it was the poor quality of the reception in the area that made the call so hard to overhear. Cloud’s mother made her living selling food. The wilderness surrounding Nibelheim was, when it wasn’t frozen, covered in berries and nuts and mushrooms unique to the area. Most of the townsfolk were unwilling to risk the dangerous terrain and more dangerous wildlife, so she had successfully cornered the market. She sold what she foraged to both people in town and occasionally exported (after severely raising her prices) to food companies who specialized in rare foods, shipping them across the world. Apparently, while she was out collecting product, one of the rock paths that spanned Mt. Nibel had crumbled beneath her. She fell a few hundred feet onto the tall, pointed rocks in the valley. She had died on impact.

               Cloud was taking it poorly.

               He took most bad news poorly and regularly felt emotions so extreme that they were entirely overwhelming. It came as little surprise that the wave of grief immediately began to drown him.

               He moved entirely on autopilot, eyes almost unseeing as he sat on the edge of the bathtub and yanked up his sleeve. He didn’t know when he had taken out his knife, but he felt the sharp sting, and his eyes fluttered closed. He pressed hard, cutting deep into the skin of his inner forearm. He didn’t need to look to make a neat row of lines, though he was at it for longer than he intended to be. He couldn’t complain, though, because it did the trick. He could finally breathe again.

               He was still moving automatically, blindly, without thought. His mind seemed to detach and float away, his hands busying with clean up. He grabbed a few tissues and pressed against the wounds, containing the mess and encouraging them to close. His eyes closed again as he focus on his breathing, on the grounding bite still singing in his skin.

               What he _hadn’t_ expected was for Sephiroth to yank open the door.

               He knew that whatever news Cloud got, it was bad. His physical reaction was immediate and intense. Sephiroth wanted to help, but he also understood the need for privacy in weak moments. He respected that Cloud probably needed a chance to get at least a bit of a grip on what was happening before he was ready to reach out for support. The time he spent waiting was tense, but he had no intention of rushing Cloud. He would have let him had all the time he needed (despite his own reluctance and longing to offer comfort), but when the smell of blood reached him, that thought went out the window.

               He was on his feet before he knew it, his mind going a mile a minute, not understanding what was happening, but alarmed regardless. The truth hadn’t occurred to him until he opened the door.

               Cloud had been reaching to drop the tissue into the toilet and grab another when he froze in place, looking at the now-open door in surprise.

               They stared at each other for a long moment.

               “What are you doing?” Sephiroth asked quietly, coming into the bathroom. Though Cloud was rushing to pull his sleeve down, Sephiroth’s stride was long, and he caught his hand before he could manage.

               One hand held Cloud on the forearm, just above the wrist, the other around his palm as he stared. It suddenly hit him why he never saw Cloud out of uniform, why he wore long-sleeved pajamas in the middle of the summer, why he always insisted on having the lights off.

               He was gentle but firm when he released Cloud’s hand and tugged his sleeves up and above the elbow. The skin was covered in little lines, all neat and horizontal, some raised further than others from where he’d cut too deep or had overlapped. Most of the scars were white and long since healed, but there were a few patches of pink that spoke to recent behavior. The glaring, fresh wounds were obvious. As he pulled the arm further out and pushed at the sleeve more, it was clear the markings continued up, likely to the shoulder. He reached out and took Cloud’s other arm, searching for the same, stomach going leaden when he found it.

               He finally looked up at Cloud’s face, where he was nervous and pale and so very afraid.

               “Did you do this to yourself?” he whispered, though he already knew the answer. Cloud turned his gaze down, now ashamed on top of everything else.

               “Why didn’t you tell me?” Sephiroth asked, voice still hushed in the quiet of the room. Cloud just shut his eyes, brows pulling together.

               The silence stretched, Sephiroth not knowing what else to say, Cloud unable to say anything at all. He trembled in place, fighting to keep control, desperate to now, more than ever. This was going to be bad, no matter what he did. He couldn’t make it _worse_. But he also couldn’t stop the way his shoulders jerked or how his breath hitched. He tried hard, really, he did, but he couldn’t stop the sob that came, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, as if that could hide anything.

               “Oh, Cloud,” Sephiroth said, immediately leaning up, pulling his lover in his arms.

               They stayed like that for longer than either really knew, Cloud’s hands twisted tight in the back of Sephiroth’s shirt, his tears soaking the fabric on his shoulder. He held Cloud tight and waited, giving him as much time as he needed. Eventually, when Cloud initiated it, they each leaned back.

               “I’ll be right back,” Sephiroth said. He stood when he was given a teary, sniffling nod and went to collect a Cure materia from where it sat in his bracer on his nightstand.

               Cloud hadn’t moved since he left, his eyes still firmly on his lap. Sephiroth crossed to him and knelt down again, taking gentle hold of his wrist. Within seconds, the little red lines disappeared. Without another word, Sephiroth collected Cloud in his arms and carried him to a couch. He deposited him on one end and sat on the other so they faced each other.

               “What happened?” Sephiroth finally asked, his initial shock passed. He didn’t think the way Cloud continued to avoid looking at him was a good sign.

               “There was an accident,” he breathed. “My mother died.”

               Sephiroth could see the effort he put into not crying again and, reaching out, took both his hands.

               “I’ll clear you for time off, as much as you need. You’ll be able to go to the funeral,” he said, doing his best to be comforting. When Cloud only sniffed and nodded, he continued. “I’m here for you. If there’s any way I can help, all you need to do is tell me.”

               It was another long silence before Cloud finally muttered, “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Sephiroth looked at him in confusion before he gathered his meaning.

               “No, but I want you to promise me that you’ll call me before you try to hurt yourself again. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is or whether or not I’m busy, I’ll always pick up for you.”

               The wince Cloud gave was visible. It was a fair request, he supposed—a better reaction than he expected. But he knew it was a tall order, and he wasn’t sure he could actually _do_ that.

               He nodded regardless.

               He intended to keep his promise. He really did. But this was an old, old habit that had long since become an addiction, and he didn’t know how to quit. After Sephiroth told him he had smelled the blood he was careful to avoid him until everything had scabbed over. He would have gotten away with it if Sephiroth had been less stubborn. He took to checking Cloud over, and it was brutal every time he was caught. He felt guilty and ashamed and helpless. Sephiroth felt worried and frustrated and hurt that Cloud didn’t trust him. Their talks afterward got worse every time he was caught, until it reached a boiling point.

               Cloud was, relatively, not a person with a short temper. Out of all his mood swings and emotions, anger was the most difficult to trigger. Even when he did lose his temper, he found hiding it to be one of the easier emotions to cover. That didn’t mean that, if pushed hard enough, he couldn’t get truly angry.

               Sephiroth had, without prelude or warning, shifted Cloud where he sat in his lap and pulled up his sleeve. He blew out a hard breath and Cloud pinched his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.

               “ _Cloud_ ,” he said, tone soft but distinctly reprimanding. This had happened enough times that he sounded exasperated and frustrated as he said it. He had tried everything he could think of and it still wasn’t working. He had done his best to get through to Cloud, to make sure he knew that he was a safe person to speak to, that he could be trusted to help. Every time Cloud broke his promise, he felt a little more betrayed.

               When he didn’t answer, Sephiroth said, “We’ve _talked_ about this.”

               Cloud tugged his arm from Sephiroth’s grip and pulled his sleeve down.

               “I know,” he answered. He moved to get up, trying to flee the conversation, but Sephiroth just snagged his other wrist, yanking that sleeve up. Though there was nothing else to hide, he tore his arm free and shoved his sleeve down. He didn’t need to look to know Sephiroth was scowling. His wrist was caught again and he was, albeit gently, manhandled onto the couch. Sephiroth turned to face him.

               “You have to talk to someone.”

               “I know.”

               “If you don’t want to talk to me about it, we can find a professional for you.”

               “You’ve said that before.”

               “I mean it.”

               “I know.”

               “I promise, it won’t upset me if you’d prefer a professional.”

               They both knew it would.

               Regardless, he repeated, “I know.”

               “You can’t keep doing this.”

               “I _know_.”

               “If you know, why don’t you stop?”         

               That was _it_.

               He wrenched his arm out of Sephiroth’s grip, and when he finally returned his gaze, his eyes were blazing.

               “You think I don’t know that it’s bad?” he snapped, something he had never done around Sephiroth. “You think I don’t know that it’s unhealthy and wrong and ten different kinds of fucked up?”

               “If you _know_ , then—”

               “Because it’s not that simple! No one can just quit something they’ve been doing for _years_ , especially not something like this.”

               “Something like this?”

               “What, do you think I do it for _fun?_ ”

               Sephiroth was admittedly perturbed. He’d never seen Cloud angry, much less outright caustic.

               “Of course not.”

               “If you’d found out I was an alcoholic, or you caught me shooting up, you wouldn’t expect me to be able to quit on command.”

               Sephiroth’s brow furrowed in confusion.

               “Those are addictions.”

               Cloud threw one hand out, furious.

               “What do you think this is!”

               For the first time, Cloud shocked him into silence, but he didn’t stop. He’d bottled this up too long and the conversation had gotten too much steam to just let it drop.

               “I have spent my entire _life_ trying to cope, when I finally found something that made me feel better, do you really think I would stop, especially when I knew I could get away with it? It got out of control, I _know_ it got out of control, but by the time I realized it, it was the only thing that helped. I tried to stop, over and over again, I tried everything I could think of, but then things would get bad again, and I’d be bloody before I could even remember I wanted to quit.

               “Every time I tried to stop, even if I managed to hold out through bad patches, I couldn’t get it out of my head. No matter what I did and no matter what I tried, the longer I quit, the worse it got. I couldn’t think of anything else. I’d get this itch just under my skin that was impossible to ignore and _nothing_ else made it go away. I’d tell myself, ‘just one more time’ to get rid of the feeling, but there was always one more time after that, and another after that.

               “I know it upsets you and worries you and hurts you and disappoints you, but this isn’t _about_ you. If I could stop for you, I would, but I’ve tried everything and I just _can’t_.”

               As Sephiroth looked at him in stunned silence, Cloud lost steam. He deflated. The tension dropped from his shoulders and his fists unclenched as he blew out a long, hard breath and rubbed a hand over his face. When he looked up again, he just seemed tired. He waited, resigned, for Sephiroth to react.

               It took a while, but eventually, Sephiroth slowly nodded.

               “I… think I owe you an apology, Cloud,” he admitted, which outright startled Cloud. Sephiroth was not a man to apologize readily. “It seems I knew less about this than I thought. My reaction seems less… helpful, when you put it that way.”

               Cloud was tired from his fit of temper, and looked Sephiroth over carefully, until he knew he was being sincere. When he was sure, he offered a small smile.

               “Thank you.” He hadn’t been expecting an apology; he’d been expecting a fight.

               “If you are amenable, it might be a good idea to speak with a professional, for advice if nothing else. My way was unfair and ineffective, but I would be surprised if someone trained in the matter didn’t know a way to help.”

               Cloud hesitated and thought the matter over. When he finally made up his mind, and felt confident in his decision, he nodded.

               “Tomorrow,” he agreed. “Will you come with me?”

               Sephiroth’s face softened.

               “If you’d like,” he answered, though he paused before continuing. “I want to help, though I’ve been doing a very poor job of it so far.”

               “It means a lot to hear you say that,” Cloud admitted, voice a little quieter. Sephiroth reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

               “I’m just sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

               Cloud leaned forward and kissed him gently. He smiled soft and fond when he pulled away.

               “I forgive you.”

               Sephiroth didn’t quite forgive himself, but he was determined to help. It made him feel like he missed something obvious, but he was glad Cloud had corrected him. Now that he knew he was wrong, now that he knew he needed to learn before he could offer proper support, Cloud wouldn’t be trying to handle this all on his own. He resolved to do better than he had been.

               All he wanted was Cloud safe and happy, and he had yet to find something he couldn’t accomplish once he set his mind to it. If his determination could win wars, it could carry him through getting over his pride and, finally, actually helping, instead of making matters worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Again: please remember that Sephiroth's response is unhelpful and potentially harmful itself, and should never be used as a reference for how to help people who self-harms.
> 
> References for supporting someone who self-harms:  
> http://www.lifesigns.org.uk/how-to-react-when-your-friend-says-they-self-injure/  
> http://au.reachout.com/how-to-help-a-friend-who-self-harms  
> https://www.lifeline.org.au/get-help/topics/self-harm
> 
> The following websites include contact information for self-harm hotlines, should you or a friend need one:  
> http://www.seventeen.com/health/advice/a4533/cutting-resources/  
> http://www.supportline.org.uk/problems/self_injury.php


End file.
